


nor held up to be whipped or wept

by sapoeysap



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Canon Compliant, Dom/sub Play, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Other, References to Depression, Smut, Subspace, Trans Character, maybe not season canon compliant then, set inbetween seasons one and two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 06:21:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20149078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapoeysap/pseuds/sapoeysap
Summary: juno knows he owes no one anything,but the thrill of the chase for nureyev,juno owes himself that





	nor held up to be whipped or wept

**Author's Note:**

> u ever listen to ur fave song for ur daily dopamine hit and then realise wow its a real jupeter song.... and then u write smut with vague references to lupin iii...

* * *

_do you go down to the dungeon,_

_to find out how to make peace_

_with your days in the dungeon_

* * *

It’s vape wet, neon lights spread out on the walls, casting pink purple blue hues. Discordant beats pushed by sounds from old earth games, notes embellished with crackle. A crackle that indicates repeated playbacks filtered through an old forgotten recording device. Hues of light illuminate walls that have seen better days, walls that are ancient, beaten down by sandstorm after sandstorm. But importantly, these sands beaten walls are soundproofed. The room smells heady, scents enticing and obvious.

Juno wants to beat down the feeling of home, but this place feels something akin to the concept. This place is a mystery, figures he would have found out about it from Nureyev. Name on a header on a scrap of paper snatched from the thief’s pockets.

Peter’s taught Juno, a lot of things in a short time. How to fuck is not one of those things, Juno, learnt that a long time ago. An art he’s perfected, like a good lady he’s worked out how to seduce, how to get fucked in just the way he likes. Which is hard and fast, preferably under the cover of darkness. Juno keeps to himself, the thought of the way he revels in the kind of fucking that never fills up the ache in his chest, only teases and hints at replacing that hollow darkness. How he strings himself along through the build-up, watches as he falls over the precipice of the ever-elusive orgasm and back into the emptiness that is the world.

‘You need breaking down, Detective, a little time to let loose’ Peter said once, a hazy memory placed somewhere in between the first time Juno fucks them both over by leaving and when Peter fucks Juno up by existing. ‘A P.I can’t forever keep up the brooding act, surely you must have some escapism’. Juno remembers his answer, flippant cold-shoulderisms. The way he had said ‘Dreaming of how cosy my grave is gonna be’, the way he had followed it up with a mumbled, ‘or the dungeon’. Words slipping in a rare moment of foolishness. Like his brain thinks that maybe, out of anyone, any soul on this radiated husk of a planet, Peter Nureyev would be the one to get what he meant. But Peter, Peter Nureyev didn’t say anything at all.

A comms set had turned up, painted matte black, a familiar voice in a new town dialect, with just a hint of Brahma's tones, just repeating the word ‘come’. Rita played quickfire questions (‘oh mista steeeeellll where does it want you to come’) and then she had done her “I’ve just been flirted with super well” snigger and begged him to let her choose the outfit.

They’ve been partn-friends for a long time, but Juno declines, no close friend should know quite how much leather and lace he likes to dabble in, especially if they're a business sorta friend as well. That’s crossing one too many streams.

Juno is looking, at this vape wet room, and Juno is figuring how Peter Nureyev would have known all along, just exactly how to unravel Juno. The fact that he never told Juno, of this, or the knowledge. Is just Nureyev all over. Just the both of them all over really, hidden secrets squirrelled away. Now’s not the time for spiralling, Juno pulls himself to the present and away from the left-over marks off the past. Tallies down the now, like his outfit and the way it makes him feel.

Leather bralettes are devious, both because there sexy as hell, and because they get sweaty quickly. The straps digging into his shoulder, the thoughts stroll through his mind unbidden, about how Peter will react, to the marks that already litter Juno’s body. New ones that _those _eyes have yet to pierce. He's paired the bralette, with a pair of lacy panties, shaped like shorts, tiny slightly see-through shorts. And to complete the ensemble, an extravagant gold-hued translucent crepe dress, delicate flowers embroidered in golden layers. It would flow all the way down to the floor if not for the sturdy boots that really elevate the whole ensemble.

Impractical as the dress is, for this sort of event, it pairs well with his favourite trench coat, gold gauze peeking through the crinkled black pleather.

Nureyev's nowhere to be seen, not in the crowd of people all moving to the crumbling beat, not even lurking in the shadows where the light never meets. It's the not knowing that might be the biggest turn on, throbbing in between his legs as he moves between strangers and intricate dance routines.

A shard of purple light illuminates the way, a staircase hidden in the corner. By the time the crowd parts enough, plus a few well-placed elbows, the staircase has disappeared from view. There's a second, where Juno doubts it was even there at all. Until he's being pushed into the wall, which isn't really a wall at all.

It's not quite an ungainly heap he falls in, but it's nearly there. The hand's that pick him up are calloused yet soft, intertwined with his own. Palms he's so familiar with, enough for a skip in his heart, and the throbbing to increase. Nureyev really knows how to make an entrance into Juno's life. Each new re-entry jolting him down to the core.

A hand meeting flesh is the sound that startles Juno out of his reprieve, this room is the same as upstairs, except now the bodies are even less clothed and moving together in ways different than before. Nureyev needs him to slip into a character, but Juno knows he's not the best at playing any role but brooding private investigator, and Nureyev hasn't told him the character he's playing dress-up tonight. Juno minds that a lot, the lack of guidance, the way part of himself wants to follow the other, blindly into anything, which apparently includes Mars finest kink clubs.

Juno eye(s) tracks across the room, the first sound he heard is the first thing he sees. The sharp sound of a hand meeting flesh now has visual accompaniment, a foppish youth with pale flesh spread out on the lap of a wiry paler person. the repeated smacks reddening the flesh, the pull in him to go closer, see the way the bruises blossom underneath the changing lights of the room. It's the simple-ness of the action, uncomplicated, easy and repetitive, that Juno thinks is attractive. Someone being taken apart by nothing but another's hand. It's been a long time since Juno's floated up and out, been a while since Juno hasn't been anything but a body for someone else.

Eye can't linger forever, not in a room filled with so much... a bounty of actions, bodies together. Someone being eaten out, back curved and earrings the only accessory. A wooden cross, in the middle of the room, well-worn leather straps empty of a captive.

Juno wants to be that captive. With such hunger.

'Such a pretty dress for me Denaria' and Juno holds back a snort because he's brushed up on his old dead languages skills and knows exactly what that means, he doesn't hold back an eye-roll though.

'If you say it would look better on your bedroom floor Nureyev, I’m out of whatever this is' Juno brushes the words against Nureyev's ear.

'Ohh ho hoo, Denaria, such a mouth on you' Then Nureyev’s hand is forceful, pushing Juno towards the centre of the room. Juno can feel wetness starting to spread in the lace of his panties, gooey and uncomfortable in the most comforting way. The two of them are nearing the cross, and then Nureyev swerves them towards a padded bench.

Nureyev’s mouth is soft against him, Juno's kicking himself for not having cuffs because this is the most appropriate moment for them. But the kiss is good, head heart malfunctioning good. Peter, he tastes liquor sweet, like a burst of lychee, delicate and unassuming. Juno wants his wits about him, but the possibility of letting go, just this once, is hard to resist. 'Trust me' echoes around his head.

He lets Nureyev pull the dress off, watches as the gold crepe fabric sparkle as its folded up, taken away by a masked waiter. Let's Nureyev pepper kisses up his side and stroke hands down and around, lets Nureyev place a necklace around his neck. Juno looks down then, pulled out of the stupor because the necklace is heavier than a necklace should be. It's a peacock, delicately carved, coloured a beautiful blood red. Only a small part of him is disappointed that it isn't a collar, everything else is working out why it's being placed around his neck.

'Why do I always have to be the bait'

Nureyev’s laugh is sharp and accompanied by a nice healthy smack to the cheek.

'Being the bait has always looked good on you, accentuates the naivetés in your personality and brings out the oh so sexiness in your demeanour' there's a pause, and then Nureyev pulls a look that screams deviance. 'Safeword’s Rex'

Juno hasn't got time to respond or even bark out laughter, before being pulled down onto Nureyev’s lap.

What's interesting, and Juno knows he will break it down and mull over it for hours, in the future, post all of this. Is the way that Nureyev keeps the bralette on for longer than the panties. Because the panties are off in seconds, left to float down to the floor, attached only to Juno by a clear string of fluid. That hurts, the clear evidence of his excitement, exposed for the world. for Peter to see. His body to spite him lets out just a little more wetness.

They've had sex before, twice before Juno up and left, and they were healthy rounds. Enough that it’s a little memory in play, syncing them up in this dance of foreplay. Nureyev’s hands are dancing across the newly exposed skin, dipping inside of Juno and reaching up into his mouth, forcing him to taste himself.

Juno Steel isn't proud of what comes out of his mouth next.

'Please'

Concepts of Pride really can't exist when your panties are being stuffed into your mouth, and all you can taste is the sweet tang of your own release.

Humiliation isn't high on Juno's kink list, but apparently, all rules are out the window at this current juncture in time.

Juno's inner monologue is screaming at him, his own voice saying, 'you need to let go' and 'make a good sub for your master Juno' in a voice that he doesn't want to pick apart ownership off.

Juno takes that leap if pride and the rules are out of the window. Then he can spit out the panties and call Nureyev 'Sir', let the name lie in the air. So, what if he follows it up with 'Master's pushing it though', Nureyev’s laugh rings crystal clear. 'Mouth off and I’ll just have to gag you with something else', it comes with an extravagant wink.

Being spanked is a love or hate it scenario Juno finds, right now it’s teetering on the precipice, the sign of a good spanking frankly, right in between pain and pleasure. Juno knows he’s making a mess of Nureyev’s lap, oozing wetness onto Nureyev’s expensive-looking trousers. It makes him proud, if Nureyev’s going to ruin him, he will ruin something of Nureyev’s back.

After a while, the pain from the spankings start to fade, numbs into nothingness, yet Nureyev seems aware of this, expectant almost. Juno’s dropped enough to only vaguely register the way Nureyev signals for one of the masked waiters. Juno feels like he closes his eye for a second, just to revel in the stinging pain, and when he opens them, he’s met with himself.

It’s the simplest breaking down Juno’s ever endured. Just the sight of his reflection, how Nureyev had known, that just confronting Juno with himself would be the breaking point. Juno sinks into subspace because it’s easier than dealing, easier to just let Nureyev take the reins. For once he’s not overanalysing everything, doesn’t even notice the crowd they are drawing, beyond the gaze of his own self. Nureyev takes the bralette off carefully. And Juno looks at himself, naked but for the peacock necklace, with only Nureyev’s hands covering his modesty.

‘Cross’ is Nureyev’s sweet whisper. Juno just moans.

Getting tied to the cross is easy, spread out so he can see inside himself in the goddam reflection.

The whip comes first, soft but repetitive, nothing to soothe the stinging but a thief’s hand caressing his hair. He’s rewarded after what feels like hours, by Nureyev putting a heavy collar on him, just shy off too tight. Juno wants to feel like he’s choked off all the air in his lungs, hates how it’s not enough. Hates how he's still at the surface, hasn’t dived under fully.

He endures the nipple clamps, and the way Nureyev pulls and tugs, just because he thinks it might end with a reward in the form of the collar getting tightened to choking point. Instead, Nureyev eats him out.

Nureyev has this down to an art, memories of bedroom fumbles and the city lights of escapism are getting pushed away in the constant steady lapping of tongue. Cumming feels rewarding, yet a guilty pleasure, Juno finds himself on the praecipe of it quickly. Eyes closing ready to let go.

‘Keep them open Denaria, want to see them go wide’

Juno knows it probably means Nureyev wants him to keep an eye out for whoever is the client. For the necklace, Juno reminds himself on a hitching breath. But he wants to think, that Nureyev wants his eyes open so he can really see them go wide, wide at the way Nureyev's tongue sinks in so good, pushing and lapping all soft and curious.

Someone, a tall figure in black leather trousers, approaches. Grazes a hand appreciative across Juno’s jawline. How Nureyev catches the action of the stranger, since his eyes are boring holes into the nest of curls above Juno’s sex, is something that Juno won’t ever be able to work out. Most likely because Nureyev unleashes the most animalistic growl, and the strangers backing off almost immediately, but the vibrations from Nureyev’s throat are enough to send Juno off the edge.

He falls.

Subspace is nice, he must think.

No itching trying to escape his body, no disappointing anyone that he isn’t enough. No disappointing himself that he isn’t enough.

Just a long endless plain. Padded cross behind him, the cool air of the room in front. A calm guiding hand that deals in devilish smacks and rubs against his already oversensitive sex.

He thinks he might see stars from the inky depths he’s sunk too.

Nureyev shouldn’t trust him with anything, Juno goes to think.

Peter trusts him with everything, is what comes out instead.

Juno knows at some point, the signs of being freed gently from the straps of the cross. Aware of the feeling of being carried over into another side room. The floaty blanket spread out over him as Nureyev cleans up. It’s nice just to drift for a while, but he can feel the thrum of thoughts bubbling back in.

So he lets them.

Lets the running narrative that is his mind wash over. Meld with Nureyev’s soothing words.

‘What was the necklace for’ comes spluttering out of him, Juno knows his voice is rough from disuse at this point.

‘Just a gift, the buyer thought it looked better on you anyway, Juno. And I must say, I wholeheartedly agree’

And when Juno steps outside, blinks into the neon cityscape of Hyperion City, crosses underneath a street lamp with Nureyev’s hand held firmly in his. All he can think to say when the Peacock changes colour from blood red to a cold blue is ‘huh’

**Author's Note:**

> juno's outfit is inspired by michelle zauners outfit at austin city limits.  
[references](https://kelseywinslow.tumblr.com/private/186836974920/tumblr_hvulMIpPyLXW7Ylj2)
> 
> please come request more fic via me on tumblr as well :) (or on twitter @kelseywinslows)
> 
> the peacock crystal is from lupin iii: the woman called fujiko mine, blood soaked triangle.  
title/quote is from alanis morissette's front row, love writing smut to songs based on kevin smith.  
also would like to petition that alanis' that particular time is the most jupeter season one ending song... like i cry thinking about them listening to it.


End file.
